


Shark Week

by EstelUndomiel (capn_cecil_ang)



Series: Destiel 'spur of inspiration' one-shots [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Knows What Castiel Wants (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Longing, M/M, POV First Person, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_cecil_ang/pseuds/EstelUndomiel
Summary: Watching Shark Week with Dean turns out to be more strenuous than Castiel expected. Especially since most of the time Castiel spends fighting his inner urges.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel 'spur of inspiration' one-shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679482
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Shark Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AryaFT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaFT/gifts).



> A gift for my girl. Happy birthday, hon! ♥️   
> I know this is not the fic you want, but it's the one you deserve ;)   
> (Why do I feel like I already used this line on you? lol)

Television is turned on, humming in the back of my mind.  It's the fourth day of Shark Week, and I'm sitting on the couch, next to Dean.  I may have agreed to watch this only because he was so excited about it.  I don't remember anymore. But I stayed because it was interesting.  Learning about these creatures, swimming in the depths of Earth's ocean, is fascinating.  I must admit, I hardly ever thought about Earth's animals before.  There was that time with the bees, that's true.  But other than that, I guess I always had more pressing concerns on my mind.  But this was nice. Sitting quietly next to each other, watching the television.

Glancing towards Dean, I notice he's completely immersed in the program.  Sam warned me about this. He said that he won't let me leave my spot once I start watching with him.  I believe he used the words obsessed and overreacting.  But I'm okay with that. I would sit here for months if it meant I could be close to him.

I take a deep breath, my eyes sliding to look at my lap.  Should I reach out? 

_No, that would be stupid._

So I keep my hands folded, my fingers fidgeting. 

_It's not like he wants it too._

I know he doesn't. I clench my teeth, trying my hardest not to glance at him.

I can see him with my peripheral vision, though.  He's nursing a bottle of beer in his left hand, his right one free.  It would be so easy to reach out, to caress him.  I clench my fist. 

_ No, I won't do it.  _ _I can't._

I know it's ridiculous, but there is this voice in my head telling me not to. 

_ Because I'll ruin it like I ruin everything else. _

Trying to focus on the television, I notice that a good chunk of the show has passed without me noticing.  I am pathetic. And I am a coward.  Cause I can't find the strength to make this simple gesture.

Dean raises his hand, and a lump forms in my throat.  I watch, hopefully unsuspicious, his hand moving closer to mine.  And I find it hard to breathe, exhale stuck in my throat.  But then he leans forward and grabs his phone from the coffee table. 

_ Right, of course.  _

What was I thinking?

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him.  He's looking at his screen, checking something.  Soon he throws his phone aside, on the other end of the couch. 

_ Oh well.  _

If he ever wants to reach it again, he'll lean away.  This is my chance then. If I want him to stay close, I have to do it now.  And I want to. I really do. My mind is screaming: JUST TAKE HIS DAMN HAND!  But my body is paralyzed, my hands helplessly stuck in my lap.  I close my eyes half-way, disappointed. 

_You are a dumbass, Castiel,_ I tell myself.

I hear movement then, my eyes shooting open.  I can feel my heart pumping in my chest, and I know Dean must hear it too.  With how close he is, there's no way he doesn't.  But the movement is just Dean taking a swig from his beer. 

I sigh, gluing my eyes back to the screen.  It's excruciating. I want it so badly, but I know I will not do it. 

My blood is boiling in my ears, frustration oozing from my every cell. 

When did I start to overthink things so much?  But there's one better question on my mind.  And much harder to answer. 

When did I start to long for Dean's touch?

I can hear my teeth scraping against itself as I clench my jaw hard enough to break some.  I stare at the TV, determined to focus on the show.  But even though I try to absorb the information about the length of sharks' lives, my mind keeps slipping.  It's like it has a life of its own.  Picturing how nice it would feel, wrapping my hand around Dean's, our fingers entwining.  And then something happens.

If you'd ask me now, I wouldn't know the answer.  I'm sure Dean couldn't read my mind.  And I'm sure I didn't give him any signal.  My eyes were focused on the television screen the whole time, to the point I hardly blinked.

But then, out of nowhere, Dean moves.  And before I can register what is happening, he takes my hand in his, casually intertwining our fingers.  No words are spoken. There is no uncertainty in his movement.  He just does it, with ease putting our joint hands in place between us. 

He doesn't even look away from the screen the whole time, continuing to watch his favorite show.  And I don't look away either. 

But I feel my body relaxing, leaning into the couch.

_ Did it get hotter in here, all of a sudden?  _

I decide I don't care. 

My lips curl into an imperceivable smile as I feel the warmth between our palms spreading.  I can see Dean putting a bottle to his lips, taking another swig.  And then he puts it down again, nursing it in his lap.  His thumb is gently brushing against the back of my hand, and my breath hitches.  He does it as if it's the most natural thing in the world. 

And I would move if I wasn't afraid of breaking this fragile moment. 

So I sit there, afraid to even breathe, the feeling of my hand in Dean's the only thing that matters to me right now. 


End file.
